The Chemistry Of Love
by Lothiriel84
Summary: The universe is rarely so lazy. - For MerriWyllow. Spoilers for 3x03. (I apologize for writing this, I really do.)
1. Periodic Table

It's not until much later that he gets the chance to talk to Molly again.

"You okay?" he enquires cautiously. The last few months have been a nightmare for her, and he's not prepared to deal with an emotional scene on her part.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replies without looking at him. There is something on her mind, that much is apparent; however, he's almost sure it has nothing to do with Jim Moriarty this time.

"If there's anything I can do for you," he starts, and that's when she finally makes eye contact.

"As a matter of fact, there is," she says, nervously biting at her lower lip. "I, hum, need to trace the whereabouts of someone from my past."

That surprises him slightly, but he doesn't show it. "Of course. A friend of yours, I presume?"

"My husband."

He stares at her, completely baffled by the revelation. He's never pinpointed Molly for one to keep such a big secret, but then there's always something.

"We're not talking about Tom, are we?"

She shakes her head, weariness written all over her face. "I've no idea who he is. I didn't even know I was married, until Tom and I went to get the marriage licence."

Oh. And he thought she's been the one to break the engagement. Wrong again, it seems.

"How did you not know?"

"According to the marriage certificate, it dates back to my first year at university. I was going through a rough patch back then, and I – I started taking stuff, for a short while. I can't remember a thing about that period of time."

Molly. Molly Hooper on drugs. Who would have believed that?

Now he can see why she reacted so badly to his relapse; she's been there herself, she knows how addiction can destroy your life.

"Okay," he utters slowly, trying to collect his thoughts. "So you want me to track this man."

"I mean, if that's okay with you."

"Not a problem. I'm going to need a name though."

"That's the only thing I know about him."

She runs through the contents of her bag and hands him a copy of the marriage certificate.

_Molly Hooper and William Scott_, it reads.

And all of a sudden, he feels like every ounce of air has been knocked out of his lungs.

xxx

He's slumped on a chair, painfully aware of the disdainful look on his brother's face.

"Are you going to help me, or not?" he demands at length, and Mycroft holds his gaze for a silent moment.

"I think married life would suit you, brother mine."

"No, you don't."

"It would serve you right anyway. Dragging a poor girl at a register office, bribing the registrar into conducting a marriage under false pretences. What on earth were you thinking?"

"I wasn't thinking. I was high, very high."

Mycroft only rolls his eyes in annoyance. "Yes, I have some recollection of that."

"You were spying on me all the time. How could you possibly miss something like this?"

"I didn't spy on you – not all the time, at least. And how can you not remember doing the deed?"

He pauses, searching through his mind palace for memories of that time of his life. There's hardly anything to find, he's deleted most of it.

"I don't know. There was a girl from my chemistry class, she was brilliant when she was clean. Must have been her."

"I'll take care of it," Mycroft says, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

Molly doesn't need to know, he'll just tell her that it's fixed now. She'll be free to marry Tom, or whatever ordinary bloke that can make her happy.

His brother is already halfway to the door when he turns around and offers him a wry smirk. "What a remarkable coincidence that it was her of all people."

With that he's gone, but Sherlock knows exactly what Mycroft thinks about coincidences.

His fingers tremble ever so slightly as he lights himself a much needed cigarette.


	2. Catalysis

He rings the bell and waits, his whole attention focused on the umbrella he carries everywhere he goes. A moment later the door is cracked open, and nervous brown eyes stare at him in surprise.

"Nice to meet you, Dr Hooper. May I come in?"

"I, hum, I'm not sure I know who you are," she mutters, and he offers her one of his well-calculated smiles.

"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced to each other. My name is Mycroft Holmes – Sherlock's brother, though he seldom mentions me if he can help it."

"Is Sherlock in trouble again?"

"No more than usual, I guess," he replies easily, and she steps aside to let him in.

He drinks the coffee she offers him – black, two sugars, exactly as his brother likes it – a socially acceptable occupation that provides him with the perfect excuse to observe the woman. She's nothing like the femmes fatales Sherlock seems to fancy on occasion, but he can easily deduce the reasons why his little brother is so fond of her.

In spite of her nerves and appalling taste in clothing, Molly Hooper has brains. She's smart and competent, and completely reliable too – a quality that never belonged to Ms Adler, nor to that Janine woman Sherlock pretended to be involved with.

She's someone his brother can trust, and that makes all the difference in the world when it comes to a damaged person like he is. Mycroft is pretty sure she would do a better job at handling Sherlock than he himself could ever manage, and that's enough for him to make up his mind.

"My brother has enlisted my support in dealing with your delicate situation. I've promised him I would see to it, but that doesn't necessarily mean I have to do it his way."

"Oh. That's really kind of you," she says, and he knows that's code for 'I don't understand'.

"I can make sure you're granted marriage annulment, even provide you with a special licence so that you and your former fiancé won't have to wait much longer. The question is, is that really what you want?"

Molly only stares at her hands she keeps folded in her lap. "I take it that you successfully traced my, hum, husband."

"As a matter of fact, I have. Or rather, Sherlock has."

She's silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. "But you don't want me to meet him, do you?"

A self-satisfied smirk touches Mycroft's lips; the woman is even smarter than he initially gave her credit for, and that's exactly what he's been looking for ever since Dr Watson's engagement.

"My brother seems to think so. I'm inclined to believe that a confrontation would be the best option for both parties."

She bites her lip, clearly trying to figure out what this could possibly imply. "Where can I find him?"

"I'm sure you'll work that out eventually. Some people would call it a remarkable coincidence, but then the universe is rarely so lazy. Have a nice day."

With that he strolls away, his faithful umbrella at his side.

xxx

A month later he receives a frantic call from John Watson, desperate for news about his best friend's whereabouts.

"I believe he's abroad," he says pleasantly. "Sex Holiday, I think that's what he called it once."

His words are welcomed with an astonished silence, and he smiles as he rings off.


	3. Chemical Equilibrium

They're sitting in a café in Vienna when he finally asks that question.

"How did you deduce it was me?"

She pauses halfway through writing Mrs Hudson's postcard, gives him one of her patented 'you always think you're smart' looks.

"Sherlock, your own brother came to my flat. He wouldn't have bothered at all if it didn't have anything to do with you."

"Of course it did," he replies defensively. "You requested my help, I requested Mycroft's."

"He said you had already traced the man yourself. How do you explain that?"

"Marriage annulments are hardly my expertise. He could have it fixed in no time, but he just can't resist a chance to stir up trouble."

"I'm glad he can't. Otherwise, I would have to find a suitable excuse not to marry Tom, and that would be awkward indeed."

He stares at her over the rim of his cup. "You went for the marriage licence. It would seem you were pretty anxious to get married."

"Tom was. I just couldn't find the courage to tell him the truth."

"My brother's visit didn't necessarily mean it was me," he observes, still following his train of thoughts. "It could have been someone I knew, a name I happened to recognize."

"Mycroft also added a curious remark about coincidences. I remember you once told me there's no such thing as coincidences, and I have a feeling that your brother doesn't believe in them either."

"And you got a copy of my birth certificate," he says in disbelief.

"Of course I did. With your history of drug abuse it wasn't such a wild guess, don't you think?"

"I shouldn't have used part of my real name. I've no idea why I did."

A genuine smile tugs at her lips. "Maybe you wanted to be caught."

"No way," he promptly retorts, fishing a cigarette out of his coat pocket.

"You're so not going to smoke that one, husband dear."

He frowns at the term of endearment as much as at the warning. "Are you seriously expecting me to behave just because you ask?"

"No. I expect you to behave because I have plans for tonight."

His indifferent façade would fool anyone but her. Slowly he puts the cigarette back into his pocket, then checks his phone for incoming texts.

"I still need to get nicotine patches. I've run out of mine."

"Only if you sign all the postcards."

He rolls his eyes and snatches the pen out of her hand.


End file.
